Page 103 of Playing the Backbeat

“We were just roommates.”

“Dee.”

Yeah, I don’t sound all that convincing. But it’s true. We never talked about what we were or what we wanted to be. So roommates is the only thing to call us. Well, not anymore. Now, we’re friends or coworkers, I guess. Neither of those labelssoothes the ache that’s taken up residence in my chest since Dylan took the last of his stuff with him and left our…myapartment.

“Okay. We were roommates who liked to have sex.”

“And spend birthdays together,” she offers, unhelpfully. “What else? Oh, meet each other’s family. Go on vacation together.”

“But most importantly, the sex.”

She sighs, sympathy dripping from every word as she says gently, “You’re going to have to admit to yourself that you either need to talk to Dylan about fixing this or you’re going to have to find a way to move on. Because like it or not, there was something between you, and for some reason, both of you decided to leave it behind.”

“And what if I can’t face it?”

“Since when is Deanna Perry afraid of anything?” she asks, smirking at me.

I shake my head. Fuck. When did I let that happen?

But that’s what Dylan said too, isn’t it? That I was letting fear drive me. But is it really fear, or is it smart to not overcommit when I’m trying to figure out the rest of my life?

“It means more…with him,” I admit. “What if we fuck it up?”

After I’ve said the words, I realize what’s been holding me back. Dylan has been a constant in my life for years. Living with him only showed me more of who he is, and I loved everything about him. A life with him would be anything but boring. It’s terrifying to find that…to want that.

The last six months have felt like a constant upheaval in my life. My career, my living situation, my friendship with Dylan morphing into something I depend on. I don’t want to lose him too.

Then there’s this small voice, one I haven’t heard in years, wondering if there’s a part of Dylan that will someday decidethat I’m too much for him to handle. I don’t ever want to be with someone who doesn’t love all of me. Maybe that girl growing up with a huge sidecar of emotional baggage and self-doubt isn’t all that confident like she pretends to be. Maybe there’s still this person inside of me who wants to protect herself…to avoid having something worth losing.

“But what if you don’t?” Carissa asks with a smile.

“Who made you the champion of love and relationships?” I ask, almost regretting the question when I see a wave of sadness overtake her expression.

She turns thoughtful. “I’m no expert, you know that. My relationship record is short and unimpressive, to say the least. But after alittlebit of time by myself—and alotof chocolate-covered pretzels—I’m happy to say I still believe love is out there for all of us.”

“Where can I get some of those pretzels?”

We laugh and I help a few more customers while we wait for the show to start. I feel lighter than I have in days, and I thank Carissa again for taking the trip tonight.

Typically, the opening band will kick off the night, playing a few songs, leading in for the headlining band. But tonight, I don’t hear music signaling the show is starting. I hear Dylan.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you for joining us tonight for the first of what I hope is many community concerts for our youngest musicians.”

He’s standing alone on stage, the purple curtain drawn behind him. I bite my lip, taking in his black jeans, boots, and black T-shirt. It takes me all of two seconds to mentally undress him…then regretfully, mentally put on his clothes again.

He smiles, and the tugging of my heart against my rib cage shakes me to my core. Like all of me wants to be pulled into his arms. Across a crowded hall, and he still has this effect on me.

I can’t ignore this anymore. I need to talk to him tonight.

I shake off my thoughts, finally taking in what he’s saying about investing in the people around us, finding new ways to inspire new artists and young voices.

“I thought I said no to this kind of thing.” A man appearing to be in his late sixties steps up to the bar, watching Dylan.

“You did,” Vicki confirms, meeting his startled gaze. “He decided he was done listening to nonsense. I invited you here so that you could see all that you’ve been missing.” She points to the stage. “You need to consider what this place could be if you put it in good hands. The same hands you’ve trusted to run it all these years.”

My eyes water and gratitude washes over me. This must be Ed, the owner of the Bridge. And Vicki made sure he was here tonight.

“Thank you all for sharing your families’ talents with us. It’s my sincere hope that we’ll get to see more from these future stars. They already shine brighter than the skyline.”